


The Last Avenger

by hotchoco195



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Angst, But he's all messed up, Comfort (eventually), Confusion, Empathy, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Illusions, Imprisonment, King Loki, Mental Instability, Natasha Feels, One-Sided Relationship, Protective Hulk, Self-Loathing, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, loki is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without Iron Man, there's nothing to stop the nuke destroying New York. Natasha finds herself alone and defenceless in the hands of their new despot - and he is not slow to prove that ownership.</p><p>But Loki may have a weakness, and one opportunity is all she needs. The question is how can she put herself back together after the dust has settled?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After Tony plunges from his tower, after the awful radio silence and Cap frantically calling his name, after the quinjet hurtles into the concrete Natasha stands on the roof and watches the missile speeding towards them. She’s too late, staff limp in her hands as she stops to watch it strike. The nuke turns down and something blows her off her feet with enough force to wipe out the sun.

She’s surprised to wake up, so stunned in fact that for a minute she forgets what happened; forgets to be Romanov and for a moment blinks hazily like Natalia. There are chains around her wrists, the links gold and gleaming. Her body aches like it’s been pounded all over. She’s sitting in rubble several feet deep, the air thick with dust.

“What happened?”

“You lost.”

Natasha cranes her neck back to look at the god standing over her, his smile chilling despite (or perhaps because of) the blood at the side of his mouth.

“And thanks to your own leaders, might I add.”

She looks around. Everywhere is death and ruin, the city decimated, people lying charred in the street. “How…how did I survive?”

“The Tesseract’s shields expanded to protect itself. You got swept up in it.”

“Impossible.” She mutters.

“Apparently not.”

She can see the Chitauri checking for survivors. Her heart clenches at the thought of Clint somewhere under that wreckage. There’s no way he could have made it – he was only human, like her. The thought reminds her of the rest of the team. If anyone could survive a nuclear bomb it would be the Hulk. Natasha looks up hurriedly and Loki grins, reading the concern on her face.

“Oh, some of your teammates are here. Say hello, children.”

The great green giant rumbles as he walks into view, Captain America bareheaded but clutching his shield beside him. Their eyes glow an eerie blue.

Loki sniffs deeply as if basking in the scent of smoke and blood. “It has been a fine day, hasn’t it?”

“They’ll come for you. SHIELD, the army, the X-Men, Heroes For Hire and the Fantastic Four-”

“If they are not already dead, they soon will be. I have the Tesseract and the Chitauri, who are endless in number and superior in every way. And now, by sheer luck, I have you.”

She stiffens, sure he’s going to press the staff against her chest, but instead he hauls her to her feet by the shackles.

“Come, Natasha. We have some world leaders to enlighten.”

 

She stands beside him as the last free city falls. The Hulk tears through the walls like paper, flinging people over his shoulder with a roar. Steve had long since died fighting Loki’s control, scrambling his own brain in the middle of the battlefield. Now Thor, their last defender, shakes his head.

“Loki, please!” he calls across the plain.

“You are wasting your time, Odinson.”

The blond looks at them grimly, turning to survey the damage around him. He glances at Natasha one last time, gaze burning her even across the distance.

“Heimdall.”

There’s a bolt of light and then the thunderer is gone, and she is alone.

 

Loki likes to make a big deal about owning the woman warrior. She’s not his queen or his consort or even his concubine – nothing that would imply they were equals. She’s a slave and a plaything. Nat’s fine with the concept; in one way or another she’s belonged to other people her whole life. In fact the things Loki makes her do are tame compared to some of the orders she’s been given. But belonging to _him_ …it’s worse somehow. Perhaps because for the first time she’s truly helpless.

She is a trophy; she is a neutered assassin. She is the one who was never meant to survive and most of the time she wishes she hadn’t. Even the vacant blue haze of the Tesseract’s power would be preferable to this but that’s not how Loki wants her. He wants her painfully, torturously aware. He wants her to understand her defeat so he can revel in it.

*****

Loki’s palace in Havana is only one of many but it seems to be the one he likes best given how often they stay there. The compound is hemmed in by a high wall, the air shielded magically, but inside it’s as luxurious as you could ever want with the tiled floors and white columns, gold everywhere. Natasha sits on a couch overlooking the gardens below, people toiling over the plants and shrubbery. Just beyond she can see the street, the locals going about their day’s business. It’s odd how little has changed since Loki’s invasion, and she wonders if it was worth so much death in the end.

The god-king himself sits at his desk going over papers, seemingly ignorant to her presence. He has that small stress line between his brows he wears most of the time nowadays. Good, Natasha thinks. He should suffer, he wanted this. Of course it doesn’t bode well for her. Eventually he will tire of his work and look for better entertainment.

Sure enough it’s only another twenty minutes before Loki sits back and sighs, stretching his arms above his head.

“Time for a break, little spider.”

She doesn’t say anything. She never says anything, not even snide remarks or insults or questions or cries of pain. It’s not much of a victory but it’s the one thing he hasn’t managed to take from her.

“Let’s slip you into something more appropriate, shall we?”

He snaps his fingers and her comfortable beige sweater dress turns into a costume of black silk and gold chains. The top barely covers her chest, trailing fabric hanging from the shoulders, and the bottom is a sort of loincloth that reaches the ground but leaves the sides of her legs totally bare. Natasha doesn’t try to cover herself; it’s a pointless fight. If she resists he’ll just take away her clothes altogether, and she’d rather have as much comfort as she can.

“Over here.”

The redhead walks over and stands beside his chair, kneeling when he waves a hand. Loki cups her cheek in his palm, smiling down at her almost affectionately. His finger traces a line across her forehead, leaving behind it a string of black pearls. He takes the chain connecting her wrists and tugs upwards until her hands rest in his lap.

“Go on then, my dove. Help your lord relax.”

Natasha’s fingers follow the familiar pattern, unlacing his breeches and peeling back the leather. Loki’s cock is stiff, vulnerable, but she can’t harm him. If it was that simple she would have strangled him in his sleep months ago – no, his enchantments make sure she can never turn on him. He rests his head back against the chair as she palms him to full arousal, her lips parted slightly.

“I can’t decide which is more beautiful – watching you like this, or in battle.” He purrs.

She gives him a dirty look but doesn’t comment and he sighs.

“Still not talking? Oh well. If you continue being stubborn I’ll just find other uses for that mouth.”

She spreads her lips around his shaft and drops forward, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. Loki smirks, shifting his hips forward.

“How often did you do this, hmm? How many times did Director Fury ask such services of you?”

She says nothing, bobbing up and down with her eyes fixed on his stomach.

“All in the line of duty I suppose. SHIELD’s little whore.”

 

She falters slightly but doesn’t react more than that. Her actions are mechanical, no passion or feeling, just the bare minimum to get him off but of course for Loki that’s half the attraction. Watching her submit unwillingly, remembering how strong and fierce she was before the world fell. It’s almost enough to tip him over the edge without the added friction.

Her hands move nimbly and he respects them, their power, their grace. She’s killed men with those hands and brought others to the brink of insanity. She is a goddess of death and desire. She should have been born Aesir – with those dark eyes she was made to be worshipped. And now he has her at his feet like a common trollop. It’s enough to give him shivers.

Natasha slurps and swallows around him, throat caressing his sensitive head and Loki stiffens. His toes curl up in his boots as he groans, spilling himself into her mouth. She catches it all, eyes already back on the floor as his limp flesh slips free of her mouth. Natasha swallows, half-gagging at the taste, but she knows better than to spit it out. The one time she did Loki had broken her ribs and left her to heal by herself for three days. She rocks back on her heels and folds her hands in her lap, hoping that’s the end of it.

Loki seems to read the reluctance on her face, at least if his leer is anything to go by. He sits forward, tilting her head up by the chin.

“But you have not had your turn.”

Despite her years of training and her vow to never show fear, she can’t help but flinch. Loki drags her onto the edge of the desk by her arms, slamming her down on top of his documents. He pushes her back, angling her hips to the edge of the desk and moves the skirt aside. His hands part her legs and then his tongue is sweeping over her folds, and she fights back a gasp at the shock. Loki chuckles and the tremors move through her flesh like an earthquake.

“By rights I should have slain you in the ashes of your city,” he murmurs against her thigh, “Made an example. But it would have been _such_ a waste.”

He laps at her, teasingly, infuriatingly. Natasha’s hands tighten around her chains as she tries to keep still. He slips a slender finger inside her, never moving quite fast enough, never doing more than stoke the fire building along the lines of her thighs. He speeds up and slows down, then stops entirely. There’s no discernible pattern, just building pressure.

He moves his finger and thrusts his tongue into her, further than he should be able to, and she wonders for the fiftieth time if he’s using magic on her. It slithers against her wall, cool and warm at the same time, and his thumb circles her swollen nubbin like it’s made of porcelain.

Being a thousand years old gives a person a lot of patience, even one as used to instant gratification as Loki. It feels like hours that she lies there twitching under his fingers, the subtle touches making her whole body ache. She can’t keep this up – every muscle is tense, her fingers and toes curling involuntarily. Loki lifts his head, fingers pressing insistently against her.

“Do you want it, Natasha?”

She can’t say yes. She won’t say it. People _died_ for this madman’s twisted idea of fun.

“Do. You. Want it?”

She nods desperately, eyes fixed on the ceiling above her head. Loki smirks and clucks his tongue, leaning down to close his lips around her clit, and then she’s coming with a strangled gasp.

This is the true betrayal. As much as she hates Loki, as much as she grieves for Coulson and Clint and life as she knew it, Natasha cannot stop herself succumbing to the god’s touch. She hates Thor for leaving her here, for not finishing Loki when he could have. She hates Odin for everything that led the chaos god to this in the first place. And most of all she hates herself. She wishes she’d died with her parents all those years ago; she wishes Red Room had killed her, that Clint had shown no mercy, that Fury had overruled the archer, that the Hulk had smashed her where she stood. Anything, _anything_ would be better than this.

*****

They share a bed. At first Natasha thought it was so he could keep an eye on her, but the spells stop her escaping or causing trouble. Now she thinks it is a mark of ownership, another invasion of her privacy. The god is curled around her, his arm light over her waist but still oppressively conspicuous. The windows are open to let in the breeze but mostly it’s just muggy air and the sound of insects in the bushes. Natasha can’t sleep; whenever she closes her eyes she sees them again, the hollow faces of the dead staring up at her accusingly. She listens to the soft sounds of Loki’s breathing and hopes that if she concentrates hard enough, it will stop altogether.

She can’t tell how late it is when he suddenly fidgets behind her. His grip becomes tight, grasping at the silver satin over her stomach. Loki whimpers under his breath and presses his face further into her neck. She’s not sure what to do. If he’s having a nightmare she has no interest in ending it but his embrace is getting more and more constricting and she’s worried he might break her bones without realising. She can’t hit him without hurting herself tenfold but she can yell.

Natasha rolls over as much as she can and grabs his arm, shaking hard.

“Loki? Loki!”

His head rubs against her shoulder and his arm muscles flex, knocking the wind out of her.

“Loki! Wake up!”

He jolts awake, eyes wide and unseeing for a moment as he stares at her. His chest heaves, arms still snug around her middle. As his heart rate calms, the god frowns.

“Did you speak?”

Natasha turns away, tugging against his hold until it loosens, and doesn’t say anything. Loki makes a small noise of interest and presses his lips to her shoulder.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

She ignores him, hand under her cheek on the pillow as the redhead stares resolutely at the window. Loki runs a hand down her side, stroking the satin. His fingers creep lower, drawing it up over her hip. Natasha closes her eyes but it does nothing to slow his meandering caress.

She’d fought him the first time, her arms weighed down by more than just chains. She’d known it would do no good, would only increase the damage, but she was raised as a fighter and she couldn’t just lie there and take it while the world burned around them. Now she waited for him to get it over with and prayed that _this time_ she could control herself.

His fingers creep higher for a second and then he rolls, flattening her into the pillows. The delicate satin tears under his fingers, ripping straight down the middle. She feels absurdly like a present being unwrapped, a tribute to a vengeful god. She’s a sacrifice – and maybe it makes it all okay if she can keep Loki from more destruction. Maybe this is her new mission.

He’s clearly still rattled by his dream, too worked up for patient gentle touches. He rends her legs apart and slides between them, pinning her with his torso as he attacks her chest. His teeth are not kind, sinking into her over and over, marking her in places only he will see (unless he decides to show off). His hands delve between her thighs and brush against her centre, and then she _knows_ he’s using a spell because she’s suddenly so wet it’s positively pornographic.

Loki’s motivation becomes obvious when he slams into her, no hesitation, no slow build. He’s sawing back and forth like a man possessed, like he can fuck his demons out, and she can barely hold on. The enchantment’s so slippery she can barely get any friction, but he’s growling under his breath and pressing bruises into her arms.

He shifts his grip to her hips and lifts her ass, tilting to give himself better leverage. She’s in serious danger of broken bones but it doesn’t matter, he’ll only heal them again. The god’s eyes are bright and mad and she’s breathless, just trying to hold on.

“Natalia, Natalia.” He hisses. She deserves that. Natasha would never let this happen; Natalia is vulnerable, weak.

He reaches a hand between them to work at her button and Nat hates him, hates that he knows this is the way to get to her. If he just threw her on her face and took her like a bitch she could handle it, but this mockery of intimacy, this pretence of passion, it hurts. The old Natasha would have mocked him and his pathetic mind games, but they work. He kisses her roughly and tweaks her clit and she cries out, lost in a climax that she shouldn’t be having, wondering when the hell she got so screwed up.

 

She can’t tell if his dictatorship is everything he’d dreamed it would be but Loki seems happy enough as they listen to the priests saying the service for their god-king. She kneels on the floor beside his throne in the temple, only one of many popping up all over the world. If Loki thinks he can pass himself off as a benevolent saviour, he...might be right. In her experience humans will adapt to anything that keeps them alive, and there have always been plenty who will follow blindly in their faith.

Afterwards they’re riding through the streets in Loki’s limo (and of course he went for the most phallic-shaped vehicle possible), the tinted windows hiding them from view. Natasha watches the people following the car with their eyes warily, cautious of the guards at either end of the escort.

“I do love to be amongst my subjects, Natasha. Seeing them prosper under my rule, the satisfaction of their happiness...it makes all this worth it.”

She rolls her eyes where he can’t see and wonders if he ever gets tired of the sound of his own voice. They stop at a corner to wait for the traffic to clear and a man walking past glares at the limo, spitting to the side. She closes her eyes with a sinking feeling as Loki’s face turns red.

“Wait.”

He opens the door and steps out, the man looking surprised and quickly fearful. Loki raises a hand that glows green, the light zapping around his fingertips.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He clenches his jaw. “No, Your Majesty.”

“Really? It seemed like you did.”

“I meant no disrespect, I promise you.”

Other people are looking now, drawing closer to the shops and houses, afraid of being caught in the crossfire. Loki’s smile is sunnier than it should be as he tilts his head.

“I will give you some advice for free, my friend. Never lie to a liar.”

The magic in his hands shoots across the sidewalk and knocks the human off his feet, quickly eating away at his face. He screams and claws at the acidic substance, curling in on himself. No one ventures forth to help him, though they can’t look away. Loki’s gaze sweeps the crowd coldly and he climbs back into the car, nodding to the driver to proceed.

Nat can’t help it. She’s seen callousness before, been responsible for it several times. That one man’s suffering is nothing compared to the slaughter of Loki’s conquest and yet there’s something so _petty_ about it that makes her speak without thinking.

“Your mother must be so proud.”

She expects a slap or a kick, but apparently Loki’s too amazed to take offence. He laughs.

“My mother’s people tried to invade Midgard a millennia ago. Somehow I think she’d approve of my efforts.”

“Trying to win some parental praise? How predictable.”

“She is dead, Natalia. I am an orphan, like you.”

“That’s not what Thor says.” She snaps, too angry from the casual way he delved into her past to censor herself.

“Thor is wrong. He was taken in by Odin’s lie but I am not so hopelessly devoted.”

She’s struck by how close that was to her own earlier thoughts. Natasha purses her lips.

“Are you sure? Because taking over an entire realm may be an overreaction.”

Loki glares at her but his mouth twitches. “You’re so much more fun when there’s some fight in you.”

She looks away again, mouth turning hard.

*****

They’re dining with members of Loki’s new court in the hunting lodge he built overlooking what used to be New York. Half the guests have glowing blue eyes; the other half are divided into those shaking and pale, too afraid to refuse an invitation, and those with hungry, greedy eyes looking to get something out of it. The whole room makes Natasha feel sick but she’s in her spot on the floor by his chair obediently, the Hulk in the corner behind them. She can hear his ragged breathing over the sound of the music. Everyone else is ranged down long boards but the king gets his own spot on the dais above them. It means there’s nothing to shield Natasha from the amused or horrified looks of those below.

Loki hands her another piece of chicken and she takes it. Natasha would rather die than eat from his hand like a pet but such an open act of defiance in front of his ‘nobles’ would earn her a shattered jaw. Once she would have done it anyway. Once there would have been a chance of revenge or rescue, and now there is only Loki and the god has proven he can hold a grudge. She nibbles at the meat unenthusiastically and doesn’t let her distaste show on her face.

One of the guests sways over to the table and Hulk growls menacingly, rising from his squat. Loki holds up a hand to wave him off, smiling at the man. He’s drunk, one of those here willingly, the kind of man who would have been a corrupt politician even before the invasion.

“You’ve got her well trained.” He guffaws, leering at Natasha.

Something sours in Loki’s expression before he smiles. “Master Johnson, are you enjoying the festivities?”

“It’s great. Regular medieval feast.” He chuckles throatily.

“What tears you away from such enjoyment?”

His eyes flick to Natasha again and the woman glares at him. “I was wonderin’ about your whore here.”

Hulk growls louder. He may be under Loki’s command but he still remembers Natasha. He won’t lift a finger to help her against his master but that spark of recognition gives her a little hope.

“What about her?” Loki says too politely, hand reaching out to rest on top of her head.

“Do you ever loan her out? You know, as a reward for loyal service?”

Loki laughs. He laughs so loudly, so merrily that the music dies and conversation stops as the sound cuts through the hall. Nat bristles under his touch but then he’s gone, moving too fast to see. The next thing she knows the laughter has stopped dead and Loki’s got Johnson by the throat, lifting his bulk until his feet hover above the floor.

“Do I _loan her out?_ That is your query, yes?”

The man tries to answer but Loki squeezes and the words fail.

“Do you presume that you can lay claim to anything of mine? Do you presume I care for your ‘service’?”

He’s bellowing now, shaking Johnson as he screams. Everyone, brainwashed or not, is staring vacantly as if afraid to show the slightest hint of interfering.

Loki’s voice drops, cold and harsh. “Well. I have no use for fools.”

Johnson twitches, legs jerking, and Nat thinks he’s being strangled until she spots the ice creeping up his neck from under Loki’s hand. The frost spreads rapidly over his whole body, slowly pinning his limbs until he’s completely encased. Loki jerks his hand and the frozen human flies across the room, shattering against the back wall into jagged chunks.

The king dusts off his hands and smiles, nodding to the band. They pick up the forgotten tune and Loki walks back to his throne, glancing down at Natasha as he sits.

“Were you worried, Natalia?”

“No.” She’d never thought Loki would let anyone else touch what was his.

“Hopefully they will not be so stupid as to insult you again.”

Insult _me?_ she frowns. Surely he meant himself.

 

But when they retire to his chambers soon after, his usual expectant look is missing. Instead he makes her wait in the middle of the room as he runs a bath, coming back to remove her clothes himself, hands caressing as they strip away the fabric. The metal clinks against her stomach as she folds her arms over her stomach. It’s stupid, pointless – he’s seen it a hundred times before and hiding herself won’t make her any less exposed. But she’s thrown by this reaction. Natasha had expected Loki to take her hard and fast, possibly even in front of everyone at dinner, to truly reassure himself of who she belonged to. Instead he holds out a steadying arm as she climbs into the bath, sinking down until the water is up around her chin. He rolls up his sleeves, kneeling by the edge of the tub, and works the soap in his palms before passing it over her.

It’s all Natasha can do to sit still as he bathes her. She’s been touched more since New York than possibly her whole life, Loki’s hands always invading and harassing and just _present_. She feels like she’s being slowly worn away, until one day she’ll be paper thin or shatter like that idiot Johnson. Loki massages her head and neck and shoulders, washes her hair, and carefully cleans the skin under her cuffs, healing any chafing in a flicker of fingers. It’s not soothing though – this weird tenderness makes her angrier than ever. He has no right to see her like this, to take such liberties.

When she’s clean he stands and vanishes his clothes, climbing in opposite her. She draws her legs up to her chest as if they can shield her from whatever he wants to do, but he doesn’t try to move them.

“Shall I be someone else, Natalia? Would that make all this easier for you?”

“What?”

He blinks and suddenly it’s Tony sitting in the bath, and her chest aches just looking at that smile.

“I can be anyone. How about your Hawk?”

And then he’s Clint and every speck of breath is just gone from her lungs and she feels like she’s going to hyperventilate. She could take this. She could say yes and get to have Clint again, and even if the touches are all wrong it will still be him, still be his arms and his smile and his voice.

“Why are you doing this?” her voice shakes, “Haven’t met your quota for cruelty today?”

“Think what you like. I can be generous, Natalia. I can be…caring.”

This is the most fucked-up thing she’s ever heard. He can’t really expect her to say yes, to fuck this illusion willingly like a traitor. She can’t pretend it’s not another of Loki’s tricks. But is it any worse than enjoying the _actual_ Loki? At least this way she could tell herself it wasn’t him that got her off. Which was a bigger threat to her sanity?

“Come on Tash – I thought we were partners.”

“Don’t,” her hand flies up and braces against his chest, “Don’t be him. Just be you.”

Loki switches back more slowly, frowning deeply. “Me?”

“I prefer to look my monsters in the face.”

“As you please.”

She expects the monsters thing to make him angry but he’s gentle as he tugs her into his lap, lips soft on hers. He works her bottom lip between his teeth and she shivers, hands curled loosely on his shoulders. His hands roam, cooler than normal, mapping her out as if it’s the first time. His fingers tighten under her legs and lift her down onto him, mouth dropping open as her walls close around his erection.

“Talia.”

He keeps her there for ages, just holding her still, eyes on hers. Natasha wishes he would look anywhere else, his gaze burning into her bones as if he was trying to melt them. When he does move it’s slow and torturous, mouth pressing against her neck, her name dropping out every few breaths.

Afterwards he wraps his arms around her, head bowed against her chest until his body calms. Natasha’s still buzzing from her own completion so she doesn’t try to get away, and soon enough he nudges her back down to the other end. Loki gets out, magic lifting the moisture from him in an instant, and walks into the bedroom without a backward glance. Natasha grips the sides of the tub and frowns, not sure what the hell that was all about.

 

When she comes out he’s standing with his fist against the window in a strange echo of the containment cell, the moonlight silver over his features. It should soften them but it doesn’t, only lending an icy gleam to his stare. He doesn’t move but she’s certain he’s aware of her presence.

“What do you want with me?”

Black Widow would never have asked a question like that unless she already knew the answer. Natasha wouldn’t have cared what he wanted since she had no interest in giving it. But SHIELD is gone and her friends are gone and all she has left is Natalia, and Natalia needs to know her purpose because she doesn’t have one anymore.

“You are mine.” He says, as if that explains anything.

“You could have killed me in New York. You said you would, before. You could have hypnotised me like Rogers and Banner. Why did you want this?”

“I am sure it’s already occurred to you.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she pushes forward, “I understand your ego trip. Having me subservient fulfils some revenge kick and reinforces your sense of control. But you could have any woman you want and it would be the same. Keeping me as a soldier or a guard would have been the more logical choice, especially because you know what I can do.”

He turns his head, eyes burning into her. “What do you care for my reasoning? I thought I was mad, or a monster.”

“You’re both. Why did you pick _me_?”

“Because you are mine!” he screams, the sound shattering the calm of the house. She fights not to take a step back but he stalks closer and she can’t help it.

“Because I do know exactly what you can do, and it is glorious. Because you have the grace and intellect to be an Aesir and the cold killer instinct of a Jotunn. Because you are the only woman in all the Nine worthy of standing beside me, and I will have what I deserve.”

“That’s it then?” she shrugs, “I just tick all the boxes of your ideal woman? Lucky me.”

“There hasn’t been a woman as intriguing as you in a thousand years. I care not if you despise me so long as you are mine.”

There’s something small in his voice when he speaks of being despised. It’s not enough to make her feel bad for him but it’s there. He holds up a hand and her robe turns into a gown that’s definitely Asgardian – the flowing green chiffon is attached to a bronze breastplate and has matching bronze cuffs at intervals down both arms. A plain bronze crown rests on her head. She doesn’t move as he cups her face in his hand.

“I am sure you think me a tyrant, a keeper. But I shall wait, Natasha. You will change your mind.”

“I’ll be dead long before then. That’s the nature of humans.”

“You will die only if and when I allow it. I can make you immortal, Natasha. I can make you bow at my feet for the next thousand years. Perhaps you’d like to consider whether that’s really necessary.”

She glances down at the chains. They’re mostly symbolic since the true bindings are magical. All she’d have to do is promise to behave and Loki would take them off. What would it achieve though? A sliver of comfort, of dignity, compared to what she’d have to give up?

“Ask me again in a century.”

He laughs. “I shall. To bed, my Natalia.”

The Asgardian dress changes into a wispy thin green nightgown, the straps falling off her shoulders, and Loki leads her back to bed with a finger curled in her restraints.

 

She watches him more carefully for the next few weeks, analysing every action as if he were just a target and she was still an agent, still in control. Does he love her? Was that what his sloppy confession meant? Is that Loki’s emotionally retarded way of saying he wants her to love him? She’d thought him too cold for that before, too disdainful of sentiment. She may have missed the clues, interpreting them as something else.

It hasn’t been that long but she feels rusty, as if the skills she’s honed over decades could suddenly be ripped away. What options does this offer? If she could get the chains off, if she could convince Loki she wants to be with him...could she get him to lift the spells on her? Probably not. But even with the spells she might be able to do something. She can’t hurt Loki but there are other people around: guards, staff, advisors. She can’t leave whichever building the king’s in – unless he’s dead. Then the spell would break. But if she can’t kill him, who could?

Maybe if she gets the chains off she can seduce someone, or manipulate them, or threaten. She can find someone he won’t suspect and once he’s dead...then she’d watch his palace burn.


	2. Chapter 2

“May I have some?”

He pauses with the goblet halfway to his lips, looking down at her curiously. Natasha makes sure to keep her face neutral, hands folded in her lap.

“Of course.”

He holds the cup to her lips and tilts, and she drinks it eagerly. It’s been awhile since she’s had alcohol and the taste is heavy on her tongue, but it won’t be enough to get her even remotely tipsy. Loki doesn’t need to know that.

“Good?” he asks as he drains what’s left.

“Very.”

“Only the best for the god-king.” He smirks.

They’re in Thailand tonight, the dining hall windows looking out onto some of the bluest water she’s ever seen, the long low tables peopled with the usual mix of the frightened, the enslaved and the groupies. Loki’s still in his impressive armour despite the heat, the air sticky under the roof despite fans oscillating slowly. Natasha’s in a traditional long silk dress, fabric trailing from one shoulder in a swath of green and silver. She doesn’t know if Loki just likes to see her in his colours or if it’s a warning, a reminder for everyone else. Probably both.

“Would you like another?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He motions a servant closer to refill the glass and holds it for her again, eyes on hers as she drinks. She makes a point of licking her lips before she looks away and catches the stare he gives her from the corner of her eye.

“Leave us.”

It’s said quietly but the command carries across the room, the guests pausing. They look at the king uncertainly until he raises a hand, eyes still on Natasha. There’s a hushed murmur and then the rustle of clothes and furniture as the crowd stand and make their way out, bowing respectfully, the servants following. Loki stays the musicians with a nod.

“Play.”

He stands, napkin tossed on the table indifferently, and offers his hand to help her up. She takes it without the usual disdain and lets him lead her to an empty section of the floor.

“I assume they taught you to dance?”

“I don’t think it’s quite the same as what they do on Asgard but yes, I can dance.”

“Perhaps we can teach each other something.”

He placed a hand on her waist and held out the other. Natasha took it with a very small smile, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think you can follow my lead, little spider?”

“I’ll try to keep up.”

His fingers shift in hers and then he steps backwards, taking her with him. She watches his feet for a moment, counting the beats in her head. It takes her a moment to realise it’s a waltz because the timing is off, much faster than usual. But Loki is light on his feet and Natasha’s still pretty graceful even with the shackles, so soon they’re spinning around the room in perfect harmony.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Loki smiles.

“Like riding a bike.”

He gives her a strange look.

“I’m guessing you don’t have bikes on Asgard?”

“Horses.”

“Right. Well on Earth we have a saying that no matter how long it’s been, you never forget how to ride a bike. It’s an instinct thing.”

“Muscle memory.”

“Yeah.”

He lifts a hand to brush the hair back off her face. “What else does this theory cover?”

 

Natasha knows a cue when she sees one. Part of her slips away into the back of her mind, a sort of composed observer. It’s a familiar scenario from a lifetime of playing parts and it feels comfortable. She needs that right now. Alright Tash, she thinks, you can do this.

Loki leans in to kiss her and she lets herself tense. He won’t buy it if she’s too eager, so she waits for him to press his tongue against her lips before responding. Natasha welcomes him in with a hand on his hip, pressing them together. Loki makes a small noise of surprise and kisses twice as hard, nuzzling at her jaw. The Natasha-in-control says it’s okay to gasp. She can be responsive now because now it’s part of the con. She just has to remember what’s real and what’s not.

The gasp is like pouring cold water into Loki’s veins. He breaks away, searching her face for the lie. Natasha tries to look as stunned as him, hands shaking (and if that’s not exactly on purpose, no one has to know).

“Natalia?”

“Hmm?” she blinks. Let him think it’s the wine. Let him think she forgot herself. If he sees through it now, the whole plan is useless. He’ll never believe it again.

“Out.” He barks.

Natasha frowns. He can’t mean her, surely? If he knows she’s faking he’ll want to punish her, not send her away. But the musicians hurry off with their instruments, and as Natasha takes a step back he grabs her arm.

“Oh not you, Talia.”

He grabs her by the waist, half carrying and half dragging her to the table. Loki lifts her onto the edge and kisses her, and Nat lets her arms wrap around his neck for once. Strictly for balance, even though the god has no problem holding her up by himself. He nips at her neck and she inhales sharply, soft enough that you’d have to be paying attention to notice. He does. He nibbles again and Natasha lets her nails dig into his shoulders. Loki smirks.

“It usually takes longer for you to allow yourself to enjoy me. Has the mead weakened your resolve?”

“No. I’m fine.” She says tartly.

“Really? And If I do this?”

He trails a finger down over her collarbone and cups her breast, thumb sliding across the nipple. Natasha twitches and Loki’s smile turns smug.

“I think your body is tired of resisting.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

He grazes her nipple again and Natasha grips his neck. He smashes their lips together, tongue seeking hers, and she gives it more readily than usual. Loki suddenly grabs handfuls of her dress, tugging it up over her knees and then her hips, forcing her thighs apart. His fingers dip into her centre and his mouth stills against hers. They both seem to hang there limply as he raises a slick fingertip.

“That doesn’t mean anything. You do that spell all the time.” She says breathily.

“But not tonight.”

And then she’s flat on her back on top of the abandoned plates, a fork digging into her shoulder awkwardly as Loki’s clothes disappear. He plunges into her and Nat moans, fighting for purchase on the tablecloth so she doesn’t spear herself on broken glass or cutlery. She doesn’t try to control her body, letting it react naturally to Loki’s thrusts, hoping he’ll read it as something more than physical.

“You are mine, Talia. Learn it well.” He growls in her ear.

“I hate you,” she spits, 100% sincere, “Murderer. Rapist.”

“I do not think you mind as much as you should.”

“You’re just a brute. You think you’re clever but you’re no better than any clumsy idiot with a pointy stick.”

Spurred on by her words Loki slams into her twice as hard. She can feel her bones jarring with each collision, head thrown back. Curses flow from her in her mother tongue, her nails biting into his chest as she rakes them down as far as she could. Loki snarls and bites her shoulder, hips speeding up. She presses against him, blood pounding in her temples, and Loki closes his eyes as his arms seize up and he pours himself into her.

 

Natasha is so close but he’s stopped, and she needs to come if she’s going to play this convincingly (certainly not because she wants to, the observer assures her). The god is panting and still above her, and she taps his ass impatiently with her heels.

Loki chuckles. “Are you afraid I shall leave you like this, Talia? Carry you to the edge and abandon you? Perhaps I should. It might be…amusing.”

She rolls her hips towards him and schools her face into desperation. “Please.”

“I don’t know. I think I’d rather hear you beg.”

“Please Loki!”

His mouth falls open just a little and he presses his fingers to her clit, shifting inside her as he circles the swollen bud. Natasha’s spine arches up off the table as the pressure explodes behind her eyes, fingers tight around his arms.

When she relaxes back he pulls out, making her wince. Loki runs a finger over the dark purple shapes spreading over her hips and the bruises fade. She can feel the bites on her neck healing, the scratches from an errant steak knife disappearing from her back. But he doesn’t heal himself, her scratches still very visible over his pale chest before he summons his clothes back.

“Do you see the benefits of cooperation, little spider? We do not always have to be at odds.”

Natasha sits up, pushing her dress back into place with a studied shameful look. Her face closes off, hard and bitter as if realising what a spectacle she’d made of herself. Loki clucks his tongue and tilts her head up by the chin, forcing her to look at him.

“This petty human guilt does you no favours. You owe nothing to anyone but me now, Natalia. I am your new master. Forget about serving anyone but me. Those old loyalties no longer exist.”

“Are we done with the pep talk? I’m tired.”

“Just remember that I have a lot more to offer than these ghosts of yours, my Widow.”

 

They have to go to a terribly dull summit so the various leaders can make their reports to Loki, although it seems to Natasha like all they’re doing is kissing lots of ass. Every speaker uses words like ‘glowing majesty’ and ‘merciful ruler’, and they’re not even the ones with the glowstick eyes. The brainwashed politicians are actual less embarrassing to watch, the Tesseract’s control making them concise and clear like good lieutenants.

They’ve been here for hours and even though she can tell Loki’s determined to appear interested and in control and informed, he’s bored. The god’s leaning on his hand and sighing every few minutes. She bites her lip and gives an exaggerated huff.

“Problem?” Loki mutters.

“I was just wondering how much longer we need to sit here and listen to them blow smoke up your ass. I know you’re big with the praise, but this guy doesn’t even understand half the adjectives he’s throwing around.”

Loki snickers under his breath. “It does diminish the adulation somewhat when it’s offered by the ignorant.”

“He couldn’t have an original thought if you paid him.”

“Alas, so often one must deal with imbeciles in order to get things done.”

“How could you possibly trust anyone here to represent your interests? I wouldn’t even rely on them to make me toast.”

“I would have thought you appreciated stupid men in power. In your former role it must have made things simpler.”

“Appreciate, sure. I didn’t have to like them.”

“And me, Natalia? What is your opinion of my reign so far?”

She carefully keeps her eyes on the crowd below. “You won the war, didn’t you? Got seven billion people under your thumb. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so unpleasant.”

“Well there weren’t quite seven billion by the time I was done. But I accept your commendation.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“It was perhaps as close as I can expect from you.”

She scowls. Loki rests his fingers gently against her shoulder, just enough to get her attention, and stands. When he steps away from the throne there’s a copy in his place, a more absorbed-looking Loki watching the podium.

“Come.”

She stands and there’s a copy of her too, the illusion kneeling with a sour face.

“Really? That’s what you felt most accurately reflected me?”

“Doesn’t it? I thought you found this tedious.”

Not as much as she’s pretending, but the meeting is fairly dry. “I do.”

“Then stop fussing and come along.”

She follows him through the door behind their position into an antechamber, and he takes her hand and spirits them both back to the palace. Natasha sighs and flops onto a lounge.

“I thought they trained spies to be patient.”

“I don’t like to waste my time unless it’s necessary.”

“Such presentations are a regular occurrence on Asgard. I suffered through many in my younger days.”

“Explains the crazy. I think if I’d had to sit there all day I would have lost my marbles too.”

Loki saunters over and rests his mouth close to her ear. “Then I have done you a great kindness in leaving. Don’t you agree such consideration should be rewarded?”

Natasha runs her tongue along the inside of her teeth while she thinks.

“I wouldn’t have even been there in the first place if not for you.”

“That is true, but I could just as easily have returned and left you there. Then you would not have even had the pleasure of my company.”

“Pleasure?”

He laughs. “So quarrelsome. It is one of your best traits.”

She pouts and looks away, and his hands creep down over her arms.

“I am waiting, Tasha.”

The redhead bites her lip and tugs him down onto the lounge, sliding off onto her knees. She reaches for his laces and Loki grins.

“Much better than listening to old men talk, hmm?”

 

She doesn’t need to push it too far. Loki will never believe that she’s fallen in love with him, but he might think her practical enough to accept the place he offered. Natasha balances between hatred and tolerance, between defiance and enthusiasm. She lets herself get carried away in bed (because no man, not even a god, can resist that kind of ego boost) and she spends the rest of her time swapping snarky quips and mocking jokes with the king. She knows the fastest way to Loki’s heart is a battle of wits, and luckily she’s got plenty of practice with people like Clint and Stark.

There are moments, few but still more than she’d like, when she says something and Loki raises a brow suspiciously. She understands that – it’s part of his nature, especially after finding out Odin lied to him his whole life. What she doesn’t quite understand is how someone so distrusting could let himself believe the fictitious friendship she was spinning at all.

*****

They’re in Havana again, the windows open to the night. Loki has his arm over her but it doesn’t feel so much like a restraint as much as a comfort for him. Natasha doesn’t even notice that she’s awake at first, the soft scuffling weaving into her dreams. There’s a more distinct hiss of metal and her eyes pop open. There’s someone unfamiliar two feet from her head, a blade in hand. Natasha doesn’t think. As he takes a step forward she vaults upright, hand closing around his wrist as she twists his arm away, the bones cracking sharply. He cries out and she spins him off balance, shoving him to his knees. It’s laughably easy; the guy’s no crack assassin, just a man making the most of an opportunity.

 The room lights up in a flash, making her blink too rapidly, and the attacker slips out of her hold. Magic catches him in the chest and ripples through his muscles, and he collapses as Loki stands. His eyes are like green fire, more hateful than anything Nat’s ever seen. She’s trying to catch her breath as he walks around the bed, body adjusting to the sudden adrenalin. What has she done?

Loki takes the knife from where it’s fallen, glaring at the dagger before propping it under the man’s chin.

“Who sent you?” he thunders.

“Go to Hell, bastard!”

“You’re a nobody, aren’t you? Just a fool.”

“I got close,” he smirks, “Almost close enough. The next guy might be luckier.”

Loki’s eyes narrow and he slashes the blade sideways, blood seeping out as the attempted assassin falls backwards. The god is shaking with rage, knife still in his hand, when he notices Natasha. Instantly he drops the blade, grabbing her roughly to check for injuries.

“Let go! I’m fine.”

“You disarmed him – why?”

“Instinct.” She says, not sure what else it could have been. She’s been trained to react even in her sleep.

“Instinct? Do not lie to me, Natasha! You would shed no tears if he had succeeded. Why interfere?”

She gets it. Loki wants it to be true. He’s smart enough to know she’s probably playing him, to know she’ll never surrender (because surrender’s not in her handbook) but he wants so badly for it to be real that his own brain is working against him.

“It seems simple to you. If you die we get our planet back, right? But you don’t control the Tesseract. The Chitauri have it. We’re in no position to fight them, especially if they turn your zombies against us.”

“So you thought it best to protect me because you trust me as your overlord? Or because you fear what will happen to you personally without me around?”

“Can we just get this guy out of here? He’s gonna stain the carpet, and I don’t think you want anyone knowing how close that was.”

He grabbed her face in his hand. “Answer me, Natalia. Did you think to save me?”

No, she wants to say. No, I was defending myself and lost my first real chance to be rid of you. I was half-asleep and stupid and I will never, ever forgive myself.

“I just did what seemed like the right thing at the time.”

“And now?”

“And now you’re pissing me off and I wish he _had_ stabbed you.”

Loki frowns but his posture relaxes. He waves a hand at the body and it disappears, blood and all.

“Come. You must be exhausted from your little exertion, my champion.”

He put out the light and climbed back into bed, pulling her with him. Natasha is still as Loki arranges himself around her, fidgeting until he’s comfortable. Her silent observer nods with approval, because if this doesn’t win her some trust nothing will – but she couldn’t care less. Because Tasha has just realised no matter who she sends against Loki, it’s not going to be enough. Between his greater reflexes and strength, his magic and healing capabilities, no human will get the job done. He survived a nuclear explosion, for God’s sake. And if he can’t be killed, then where does that leave her?

 

She’s withdrawn for a day or two, trying to form a new plan and finding nothing. The stress of her situation is catching up to her, making it impossible to think. And now she worries she’s made things worse because Loki does seem to believe there’s something between them, a fondness or friendship. If she can’t get rid of him then surely it would have been better to stay aloof.

Loki is just as moody. He’s only mildly nice to her, screaming at the servants, eying the guards with disgust and generally being a son of a bitch to everyone in the near vicinity. He seems offended that someone would be so ungrateful, and Nat thinks it’s probably something to do with his self-esteem. He doesn’t just want to be a king, he wants to be feared. He doesn’t just want to own her, he wants to be liked, loved even.

He’s downing the wine at dinner like it’s the last drop in the Nine Realms. She’s never seen him drink so much before and she’s a little worried that combined with his current humour some poor servant’s going to get crisped for dropping a plate or something. The god sways slightly in his chair but his eyes are clear enough, his cheeks a pale red.

“I tire of these leeches, Natalia. Don’t they look pathetic, scrounging around for scraps like trained hounds?”

“I thought you wanted them attentive.”

“There is no merit in their obedience because they are nothing. They are unworthy of my time. Come.”

She follows him as expected and Loki slips an arm around her waist as soon as they leave the hall. She’s not sure if it’s for support or not; she’s not sure if he’s forgotten the way to their room. He seems to get drunker the farther they walk, squinting at the lights in the corridor and leaning on her heavily.

“Do all kings feel so detached from their subjects?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I don’t feel detached from you.”

“I don’t think I really count as an ordinary subject, do you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “No, you are magnificent. You’re not like them.”

They get to the door and she shoulders it open, automatically scanning the room for threats before helping him in. He tumbles towards the bed and his weight drags her down with him, body pinning her to the mattress.

“Oops.”

She can’t imagine Loki ever saying oops with anything but sarcasm before. He laughs and for a moment he sounds young and happy, and then his face falls again and he’s the lonely god-king.

“Do you still hate me, Tasha?”

“Yes.”

“But you want me around.”

“That was the conclusion you came to. I said you were the lesser evil as far as we know.”

“So stubborn,” he smiles, “And so beautiful. You remind me of the Asgardian ladies.”

“I’m not a lady.”

“You are my lady, and no one shall say otherwise in my presence, not even you.”

 

His lips batter against hers, hands groping clumsily. Nat’s been expecting it really and she plays along, kissing back as best she can in the maelstrom of tongue assaulting her. He bites her lower lip hard and she winces. Loki waves a hand and they’re both naked, his rapidly growing arousal poking into her thigh, and Natasha is sort of amazed he can even go through with this in his current state. Cold fingers close around her wrist like a vice and he hauls her arm above her head, the other forced up by the short length of the chains. The metal bites in as he puts his weight on it and she gasps.

“Yes, oh yes my Talia. Give yourself to me.”

His teeth dig into her neck hard enough that she scents blood, the sting a white flash of heat. He wrenches her legs up and she cries out at the awkward angle as he settles against her.

“Easy, Loki.”

“You are the only one worth my time, Natasha. The rest of them are a waste of breath.”

His words come with a harsh smell of liquor and scratches, his grip too hard on her torso. Her joints twisted painfully, creaking under his hands.

“Loki, focus. You’re forgetting yourself. I’m not made of steel like those Asgardian girls.”

He takes himself in hand and presses into her, but he hasn’t done the spell and she’s certainly not ready. Nat shouts, clawing at his chest.

“Loki, Loki look at me! Too rough.”

He frowns in confusion, and it takes another attempted thrust for him to notice the problem.

“My apologies.”

He mutters the charm and the rawness fades, but he only uses the chance to thrust harder. Nat’s head bobs until she’s afraid she’ll bite her tongue. She’s starting to panic now. Drunk or not the god is stronger than her and he won’t be moved unless he chooses to. She can’t hurt him without half killing herself but if she doesn’t make him slow down he might accidentally crush her anyway.

“Loki, stop.”

He throws himself forward and there’s a crack and a wave of agony as something breaks.

“Stop, stop!”

And he does. Half-buried in her, Loki pauses. His face is vacant, lost as his gaze sweeps over her and notices the very real tears of pain.

“Natasha?”

“I think you broke my hip.” She grinds out.

The words don’t seem to make sense. He shifts his weight unthinkingly and she screams. The god freezes.

“Just…can you heal it as it is?” she whispers.

“I shall be as gentle as possible.”

He guides himself out of her and it’s steadier than before but it still hurts. She tries not to move, eyes spilling over as she stares straight up. Loki’s fingers trace the injury and she shudders, only making it worse. She’s had broken limbs before, head wounds, cuts and burns and bullet holes but they were always deadened by the distraction of the fight, and they were a localised pain. She couldn’t breathe without a sharp tug through her abdomen.

“I do not know if I can repair it in my intemperance.”

“Please,” she shakes her head, “Please, you have to do something. Knock me out, dull the pain, anything.”

He looks at the bites on her neck, the scratches and the huge bruises that have already risen. She thinks she’s got a couple of sprains but she doesn’t even notice compared to the broken bone. There’s a thick nauseous feeling in her stomach and her head’s going woozy. Maybe she’ll pass out and sleep through it.

 

Loki summons a small black leather purse out of the ether. She’s never seen it before, always assuming princes and kings never had to pay for anything. But it’s not money he pulls out but a small white stone that he crumbles between his fingers and rubs over her hip. The powder glows as it sinks into the skin. Natasha goes taut as the bone resets itself, screaming as it knits back together in minutes instead of weeks.

Her body goes limp as the pain fades but she can’t move, exhausted. There’s noises she should be able to identify but can’t and then someone’s tilting her head forward and pressing water to her lips. Nat drinks greedily, letting it sooth her throat before dropping back. As her breathing returns to normal she starts to get a handle on the situation. She looks up at Loki, his lip quivering uncertainly. He’s still a bit drunk but the shock has sobered him up enough to be careful as he strokes her hair.

“Are you well?”

“It’s better, yeah. What was that thing?”

“A healing stone. I keep them for emergencies.”

“I’m an emergency?” she frowns.

“I could not heal it myself…”

“Shh,” she pats his hand, “It was an accident.”

“Well I am sorry all the same.”

He stands and heads for the door. Natasha drags herself up, surprised (and thankful) that there’s no twinge to remind her of the recent torment.

“Where are you going?”

He refuses to look at her as he answers. “I have hurt you. I am indeed a monster.”

His voice wavers and Natasha sees her chance.

“Loki,” she holds up her arms, “Take the chains off.”

He stares, head turning slowly. “What?”

“Take them off.”

“Why would you offer this, after what I have done?”

“Why did you stop when I asked you to?”

He’s not sure, gaze zigzagging over the room, but Nat stares him down. Loki walks back to the bed and touches a finger to the chains. The gold dissolves in a shower of dust, evaporating. Natasha rubs a hand over her wrists, not even realising how much she’d missed the freedom from their weight. Loki turns on his heel and she grabs his arm.

“Come here.”

“I had thought you would prefer not to share your chambers tonight.”

“Just come.”

He lets her pull him onto the mattress, squirming so they’re both against the pillows. Nat tugs his head down to her chest, fingers carding through his hair.

“I have done nothing to earn this.” Loki mutters.

“It was an accident, remember? Try to sleep it off.”

“You are truly wondrous.”

She holds him tight, well aware of the moment when his breathing levels out and turns into a drunken snore. Then, with the ease of long practice she wriggles out from underneath him. Natasha grabs a long robe from the cupboard and wraps it around herself before trying the door. It opens first time and she slips out into the dark hallway beyond. She wanders, well aware the only people still awake are in the dining hall, stopping in an empty parlour. The redhead closes the door, sliding down the wood until her head rests on her knees, and lets herself sob.


	3. Chapter 3

Having the chains off is, as Nat first thought, mostly symbolic. She’s still confined to a magical radius around Loki, she’s still unable to hurt him. But _asking_ to have them off makes all the difference in the world.

Her wardrobe gets replaced one morning without her noticing. Before she’d had what would have been considered classy dresses, the sort of thing young trophy wives or older WASP matrons would have worn before the war. Now the entire cupboard was nothing but regal gowns in various silk and chiffon-like materials, a very Grecian style with metal embellishments. They’re not uncomfortable so she doesn’t complain, but the looks she gets from the servants are suddenly a lot more respectful. She has a chair at dinner, a backless Roman affair in dark ebony with silver inlay that brings her head level with Loki’s chest. He still feeds her but she has her own wine glass and doesn’t have to rely on him to pour it.

In the daytime when Loki’s working, Nat takes it upon herself to roam the palace. She knows it’s probably pointless since they move so much but it makes her feel better to have some idea of how things stand. No one looks twice at her or questions her right to walk through the halls and gardens, and she starts to feel a little more like herself.

 

She’s returning from a wall around the perimeter, cataloguing the latest information about the patrols. Hulk is sitting outside her room, legs in front of him so that the servants are all either avoiding the corridor altogether or squishing themselves against the wall to avoid touching him.

“Hey Bruce.” She smiles.

“Natasha.” He tilts his head, not quite there but present enough to recognise her, “God inside.”

“Yeah, I figured. Thanks.”

She pats his arm and opens the door, walking in to find Loki standing at the balcony with his hands clasped behind his back. There are three young women in plain servants’ uniforms lined up in front of the bed.

“Loki?”

“Ah, Talia. Did you enjoy your walk?”

“Yes. Who are these?”

“Choices.”

“Choices.” She echoed, brows creeping up.

“For your new handmaiden.”

“My what?”

“It is a necessity of your station. A king’s lady should be doted on.”

“Loki, I don’t need servants. I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself.”

“I do not doubt it but I am often busy with my work. I would be a poor companion if I did not give you some form of entertainment in my absence.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is this so you can keep an eye on me?”

“Why would I need a servant to do that?” He waves a hand wreathed in green light.

Nat folds her arms over her chest. “Forgive me if it seems like a way to get me to agree to a babysitter.”

Loki laughs, coming forward to wrap his arms around her waist. “My sweet Talia. All those years of watching your back – it’s going to take a lifetime to break you of that habit, isn’t it? Well do not fear. Entrust your safety to me, and accept this as a mark of my…regard.”

She sticks out her lip but it’s no good arguing. “How do I pick?”

He moves behind her, hands on her shoulders. “Decide who is most pleasing to you.”

“Based on what? I don’t know how competent they are by looking at them.”

“If the one you choose does not suit, you can always take another.”

She looks at the women. The first is more of a girl, a blonde who looks about sixteen. There’s a woman of mid- to late-twenties with very black hair pulled back into a bun. The last is about twenty, her chestnut hair incredibly long and straight. The younger girls look nervous, hands shaking in Loki’s presence. The one in the middle meets his eyes squarely, hands clasped before her with white knuckles.

“Her.” Natasha nods.

“What is your name?” the god demands.

The dark-haired woman purses her lips. “Leya.”

“You two may return to your posts.”

They curtsy in that awkward learned-from-movies way and leave. Loki crosses the room until his face is inches from Leya’s, mouth twisted threateningly.

“You understand your duties?”

She nods once sharply and he smiles.

“Do not disappoint my lady. I would be most displeased to learn you had failed her.”

Leya’s jaw twitches and Loki steps back, waving a hand. Her dress turns from black to a pale green and her composure breaks, hands tugging at the fabric in disbelief.

“There is a vacant room next door. I’ll have your things moved so you can stay close to your new mistress.”

He walks back to Nat and kisses her forehead, and she knows what she’s supposed to say.

“Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, little spider. I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”

 

The door closes behind him and the two women stare at each other, Leya’s face full of anger, Nat’s speculative. She can read distaste all through the Cuban’s posture, and it hasn’t lessened since Loki left.

“How did you come to work here?” she asks calmly.

Leya’s eyes flash. “Why not ask your lover, my lady?”

“He’s not my lover. My owner, nothing more.”

“It all seemed pretty cosy to me.”

“You lost people in the Conquest?”

She nods stiffly.

“So did I. And I’m going to avenge them if I have to die doing it.”

“Avenge them – what’s a skinny little thing like you going to do against a _god_?”

“Loki is not immortal, whatever the priests say. And I’m not as helpless as I look. Do we understand each other?”

Leya frowns. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re both prisoners here, and when the time comes I might need your help. Do you think you could lie to him if you needed to?”

She presses her lips together. “Yes.”

“Then stay close to me and we’ll find a way out of this, alright?”

The woman’s muscles slowly relax, her expression changing to something friendlier. “You seem like you’d have the most reasons to kill him.”

“You have no idea.”

Leya straightens. “What tasks do you have for me, my lady?”

“You don’t actually have to wait on me. I don’t need a servant.”

“And if the god-king catches me loafing around I’ll be lucky to get off with a scolding. There must be something I can do.”

“Uh, alright. He said you should keep me company. How about we sit and talk?”

“I think I can manage that.”

*****

Natasha and Leya walk along the terrace, the redhead soaking in the sun as her eyes scan the walls. She knows every guard now, their names, their families, their skill. She’s not sure how it will help yet but it’s better than admitting she has no plan.

A pair of maids pass with a load of laundry fresh off the lines. They scowl when they see her and drop their gaze, muttering to themselves. Natasha would blush if she hadn’t schooled her face into casual indifference.

“Ignore them.” Leya says.

“They don’t bother me.”

“Yes they do. If they were in your place, they’d have either run mad or surrendered completely by now.”

Nat shrugs. “I’m used to people thinking the worst of me.”

“Well they’ll change their tune when you pull this off.”

“Maybe. I think I’ve had enough sun for today.”

They turn back into the palace, heading for Nat’s room. As they pass Loki’s study the Hulk waves.

“Natasha!”

“Hi big guy.”

“You know this beast?” Leya gapes.

Hulk growls as Natasha frowns. “He’s not a beast. He’s a real person inside, he’s just stuck this way.”

“Oh. Sorry, I just…”

“You thought he was part of Loki’s army. He’s human – a genius, actually. A doctor.”

“Well it’s good to meet you then.” Leya bobs her head.

Natasha looks up at Hulk. His eyes are sad under the crystal blue taint, brow furrowed as he stares at her questioningly. Hesitantly she places a hand on his knee.

“It’s alright, Bruce. We’ll get out of here.”

He huffs, spit flying past her face. She sighs.

“How? If this poor thing’s in the way you’re going to need a miracle to get to the king.” Leya whispers.

And then it hits her. Nat’s only ever seen one person come close to taking down Hulk. Thor could do it. One knock to the head with that hammer and the Tesseract’s hold would be shattered. She can feel her palms getting slick with sweat as the idea grows, her heart racing. Thor’s on Asgard, seemingly content to stay there. How the hell is she going to get him here – and without Loki getting in the way?

“Leya, is there a place in the palace where no one goes? Not even servants.”

“Sure. There are lots of empty rooms upstairs.”

“Do you think you could show me?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Him too?”

 

The handmaiden looks up at Hulk hesitantly but doesn’t get a chance to answer as the door flies open. Loki seems startled by the two women, blinking rapidly as the shock wears off.

“Talia. I was just about to send for you.”

“We were in the garden.”

“I am weary of these dry letters and complaints. Can no Midgardian solve their own problem?”

“Not in my experience.”

He laughs and grabs her wrists, running his nose along her cheek. “I could use some cheering up.”

She looks down but doesn’t pull away. “Of course.”

“Your maid can wait out here. I’m sure the beast will keep her company.”

Leya bows her head but her eyes are on Nat. The redhead wishes she wouldn’t look so concerned, or so sympathetic. She doesn’t need anyone’s pity. She follows Loki into the study and he leads her over to the couch, standing with his arms out expectantly. She’s used to the fastenings by now, fingers nimble and fast as she strips off the various parts of his outfit. He makes no move to undress her, merely lying back on the lounge once he’s naked.

She grits her teeth. This is more than simply lying back and letting her body react; this is an expectation that she _wants him._ He’s not even ordering her, just waiting.  She can’t do this, not after everything else, not when she could feel an escape just around the corner.

Yes you can, the observer-Nat says. Just fuck Loki and he’ll go back to his work, and then you can figure out how to get Thor down here. One last time and you’ll never have to touch him again.

“Natalia?” he quirks a brow.

She straddles him before he can ask questions, lips seeking his. Her hands clutch at his bare chest reluctantly. She wants to get it over as quickly as possible but she can’t risk asking for the lubrication spell and making it obviously. She’ll have to think herself into it. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to Loki’s neck, sucking the pale skin until he groans. His hands curve down over her hips and she grinds down against his crotch, willing herself to focus on the friction.

It’s a mission, she tells herself. It’s just a standard honeypot – she’s slept with guys who were uglier, or worse in bed. But it’s hard to forget who Loki is when strong hands squeeze her and that low chuckle tickles her ear.

“This is just what I needed to improve my day.”

“Glad to be of service.” She says mechanically, nails dragging down the side of his ribs.

“Are you now?”

She drops her voice, the words falling out breathy and low. “I will be once you touch me.”

His fingers creep down the line of her hip, slipping down her legs until he reaches the bottom of the skirt. Loki crawls back up under the fabric, cupping a hand over her mound.

“Is this what you wanted?” his finger brushes against her clit.

“Ah- yes.” She tips her head back.

He speeds up with a smirk.  “Who makes you feel this way, Talia?”

“You do.” She gasps out.

“Who?”

“Loki, Loki.”

He laps it up as always, fingertips dancing over her folds in a teasing stroke that makes her thighs twitch. Nat doesn’t wait any longer, leaning down to gnaw at his ear.

“More.”

“If you want more, you shall have to show me little spider.”

She curses him internally. Of course he isn’t going to make it any easier for her. Business-like Natasha takes over, sweeping his hands out of the way and closing her fingers around his shaft. She lifts herself up and guides him in, sinking down until their thighs meet. Loki sighs contently and taps her legs with the flat of his hands.

“Go on then, Talia. Show me.”

*****

Loki opens the door and sticks his head out, waving to Leya.

“Run your mistress a bath. She has earned it.”

“Yes sire.”

The door closes and Natasha just stands there, face blank, hands shaking slightly. Leya looks at her worriedly.

“Natasha? My lady? Are you…alright?”

“Fine.”

“Do you want me to run the bath?”

“No. Show me to these empty rooms.”

“Are you sure? I mean…I doubt it will matter if you take a moment to-”

“I’m fine!” she snaps, “We can’t waste any more time.”

She turns to Hulk, dragging his head down so she can reach his ear.

“Bruce, I order you to accompany me upstairs. I need protecting.”

“Hulk protect Loki.” He frowns.

“Yes, he protects Loki and Natasha. Those are your instructions aren’t they?”

He looks confused but nods. “Yes. Hulk protect Loki and Tasha.”

“So you won’t get in trouble for doing as I ask. We’ll be very quick. Come on.”

Leya’s brows raise as Hulk stands and waits patiently and Nat grabs her arm.

“The shortest, most deserted route you know.”

“I’ll try.”

They take the hall further away from her room and come to a set of stairs tucked behind a cupboard full of wine bottles. Leya nudges Hulk towards it.

“Hurry.”

He huffs at the order but takes the stairs five at a time, bounding ahead. The Cuban glances around and nods towards an empty room to their left that may have been a formal dining room at some stage. Natasha walks in, waving at Bruce to follow, and the maid closes the double doors behind them.

“Tasha?”

“Just sit tight, Bruce. Leya, make sure no one comes in.”

She stands in front of the door, licking her lips nervously, and Natasha moves to the middle of the room, throwing her arms up as she’s seen on tapes.

“Heimdall? Heimdall, if you can hear me I need to see Thor. I need him down here now.”

There’s no response, no sudden light, and Natasha growls. They don’t have time for Asgardian pussyfooting around.

“Thor, I get that you think it’s hopeless, alright? But you owe me. You owe me _huge_. I need to see you – get your stupid alien ass down here!”

They wait, Leya watching her with more trust than she should, Hulk seemingly oblivious.

“Please Thor. Please, I can save us but I need your help.”

Still nothing. Natasha feels her knees give, falling in a puddle of cloth as she starts to cry. Leya frowns and runs over to put an arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t do that, oh please miss, don’t give up.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Leya. If Thor won’t help I’m out of plans, and if this is all I can look forward to I might as well throw myself off the roof right now.”

“Don’t say that. He’ll come, or we’ll think of something else. You’re strong and brave and you’ve earned the right to kick that son of a bitch up and down these halls. You can’t let him get to you.”

“It’s far too late for that.”

 

Nat cries harder than she has since she was a child, letting the black poison that had crept into her heart seep out. She’s got Loki believing she wants him, and if there’s no hope to cling onto what’s to stop her falling for it too? Her brain will stab her in the back in some bid to survive, she can feel it. So long as there’s a cause to fight for she can pretend it’s all just an act, that she hasn’t been trying to win Loki’s favour just to spare herself. Black Widow would never be so desperate.

Leya rubs her back, Hulk snuffling with something that for him approaches concern, until Nat realises they’ve been up here at least twenty minutes and Loki’s going to notice soon (if he hasn’t already). She waves Leya away and tries to stand.

“We need to get him back.”

“I don’t think you should go anywhere just yet.”

“I don’t have a choice. Come on.”

Leya looks dubious but helps her up, heading for the door. She sticks her nose out carefully through the crack.

“Clear.”

“Did you hear that?” Nat frowns.

“Hear what?”

The whooshing sound is louder and the room fills with light so bright Hulk throws an arm up in front of his face. A perfect circle of the roof drops in as the wind roars and then the light vanishes and Thor’s standing in the middle of the room.

“Thor!” Natasha gasps, running back towards him as Hulk growls and rears up.

“Friend Hulk-” the god starts.

“It’s fine Bruce, he’s okay. He’s not going to hurt me. Stand down.”

The green giant mutters unhappily but lowers his arms. Natasha beams at Thor and grabs his arms.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I cannot stay. Even now Loki will be on his way to confront me. I have only time to collect you.”

“Collect me?” she frowns.

“I will take you back to Asgard, where Loki will not be able to touch you. I was wrong to abandon you here when I…when I failed to protect Midgard.”

“That’s not why I called you.”

“Why else would you require my assistance? I cannot defeat Loki alone, Lady Natasha.” He frowns.

“I’m not asking you to. I just need you to use the hammer.”

“Mjölnir? What use is it to you?”

“On the helicarrier I snapped Clint out of the Tesseract hypnosis with a couple of blows to the head.”

“My lady…” Leya says as feet pound up the stairs.

“What do you want me to do?” Thor says pleadingly.

“Hit him!” she points at Hulk.

Leya throws herself against the doors as someone pushes from the other side and Nat yanks Thor’s arm. The god looks between the two women and the enormous Bruce watching him vacantly and pulls Mjölnir from its place on his belt.

“Forgive me friend Bruce. Natasha, get out of here!”

 

She doesn’t need to be told twice. The redhead skids across the floor, tugging Leya behind her as she opens the doors and downs the guard on the other side with a right jab. She can hear Hulk roaring behind her and the deafening bell-like clang of the hammer but she can’t look, too busy dodging the guards and dropping them as fast as possible. They’re not quite sure what to do, afraid of damaging the god-king’s chosen woman, and they’re slower to react than they should be. She flips over a tan guard and sweeps his feet out from under him, snatching his gun and pistol-whipping the next sentinel in the jaw.

“Leya, run!” she shoves the servant towards the end of the hall.

She lets off two shots, one taking a man in the eye and the other in the chest. She doesn’t have time to worry about anyone getting up again. She’s wrestling the last guard’s rifle away from him when a knife thuds into the wall right beside her head.

“Widow!”

Loki’s voice is like a whipcrack, making her head jerk up. She’s panting as she knocks out her opponent and turns to face the trickster. He’s got his knives in hand, face a red study in rage as he watches Thor and Hulk destroying the room they’re in as the thunderer tries to land a solid hit.

“You brought him here to destroy me? After everything I have done for you, for these pathetic Midgardians?” he spits like an outraged cat.

“Do us all a favour and drop dead, _sire_.”

The fury fades, leaving only a cold hard smile. “Very well. Your ingratitude stings, but I suppose I have only myself to blame. I will not fall for your deceptions a second time, Romanov. And when this plan of yours comes to nought, you are going to beg for mercy.”

“I’ll see you dead first.”

He rushes her and she knows she’s in trouble. She’s got the rifle to deflect his blows but the contact jars her arms, his strength almost overwhelming. He’s faster than her, the skirts even more of a disadvantage as she tries to avoid his thrusts and cuts. If she had her Bites she might be able to create some distance but he’s up close, using his height and extra reach to force her into a corner. Nat lands an elbow against his nose, the cartilage crunching, and he howls.

A thud rings out and they both glance over as Hulk crumbles to his knees, falling forward. Thor climbs over the unconscious creature as it starts shrinking back into Bruce, heading towards them.

“Loki! Loki, release her!”

He flings up his hand and a wall of bright fire blocks the hall beside them.

“I don’t think we need him interfering, do you? This is a domestic affair.”

“Loki!” Thor yells just out of sight.

He turns his palm towards Nat and something solid and cold hits her in the chest, knocking her breathless back against the wall. She doesn’t have a chance to recover as Loki slams into her, sandwiching her against the stone.

“I must say I’m hurt, Natalia. I thought you were starting to see sense.”

“Fuck…you.” She wheezes out.

His blade bites into her chest in a shallow gash and she shouts.

“No dear – I’m not the whore here.”

 

The hated chains click around her wrists out of nothing, somehow heavier than before. Loki slices her across the arm, oblivious to Thor’s roars. The daggers slash across her legs, cutting her thighs as strips of the skirt fall away. Loki drops his weapons, hand closing around her throat as the other drags her leg up around his hip.

“Since you have decided you are too good to be my queen, then you will be my harlot. I will take you when and where I like and it will hurt, and when I tire of you I’ll hand you over to whoever I please.”

Natasha gulps against the iron grip on her neck, nails scrambling for purchase on the wall as he tears at his laces. Loki bashes her head back against the stone and she feels woozy, limbs too weak to fight as he pulls his cock out. There’s a roar and the god chuckles.

“The monster is awake. He can watch with my dear brother as you squeal like the wench you are.”

His fingers rake across her thighs as he positions himself and then Loki’s pressing up against her, head just breaching her entrance. Natasha fights to breathe, too dizzy to notice any of the pain. Then something smashes past her face and she’s boneless, sliding down the wall in a heap as her lungs work overtime to get some oxygen to her brain. Huge hands cup her face.

“Lady Natasha? Lady Natasha, are you awake?”

“Yeah, yes.” She croaks out, looking past Thor.

Hulk is smacking Loki into the floor over and over, eyes a berserk green. The god doesn’t even scream as he dents the tiles, ceramic shards flying through the air. Hulk drops him hard and the wall of fire flickers and disappears. The shackles drop off and Natasha sits back, panting. Hulk turns to her, hands clenched at his side.

“Hulk protect Tasha!”

“You…you did it, pal.” She swallows around the lump in her throat.

Thor tiptoes towards the rumpled body of his brother, kneeling to turn him over.

“Loki? Loki, can you hear me?”

“Be careful.”

“Loki?”

His fingers press into a gap above the lie god’s collar and he frowns in concentration. Natasha tries to cover herself with what’s left of her dress as she watches Hulk roam the floor looking for more enemies.

“How did you get past the barrier?” she asks.

“Roof.” He grunts.

She looks up at the gigantic hole above them and smiles.

“Loki?” Thor shakes him.

“Thor?” she frowns, struggling to her feet.

The blond looks up, eyes wide. “He’s dead.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Natasha? Natasha, if you can hear me I need you to give me a sign.”

“Is she well?”

“Just shock I think, probably from the lack of oxygen and blood loss - she shouldn’t have tried to stand up so soon. Natasha?”

“Lady Natasha?”

A hand touches her shoulder and she twitches, eyes snapping open. A shirtless, battered Bruce is kneeling on her left, Thor on her right looking like he’s five years older (or maybe five hundred).

“What happened?”

“You passed out. Don’t try to sit up yet, I wanna check your stats.”

“I cannot linger here, friend Banner. With Loki…his deal with the Chitauri is broken. Midgard is in unthinkable danger and I must return to Asgard to rally the Allfather’s army.”

“I know, I know, just give me a few minutes. And maybe some space, okay?”

“There is no time. Heimdall!”

“Thor, wait!”

Light blasts into the room and blinds her, the world turning dark again. Some force greater than anything she’s ever felt rattles her bones inside her skin, the blood pounding against the walls of her veins. She can’t keep her focus on anything, noise cutting in and out as she floats between conscious and not. She thinks she hears Bruce groan; then a woman’s face, concerned but beautiful under golden hair.

“Get her to the healing room.”

Then something brushes Natasha’s mind and it all falls away.

 

She can feel light against her eyes, warm and distracting. She’s still tired but she can’t keep them closed. Natasha blinks, adjusting to the brightness of the window until she can see.

“Hey.” Bruce leans forward with a smile.

She tries to sit up and he hurries to help, but apart from a lingering weary feeling she can’t tell if there’s anything wrong. She looks down at her chest but the cuts have already healed over into faint white scars. Natasha examines the room. It’s a large airy chamber, the walls a soft golden wood. She’s in a huge sleigh bed, Bruce sitting in a chair nearby. There’s nothing modern in the room: no TV, no phone, no light switches.

“Where are we?”

“The palace. Uh, the Asgardian palace.”

“What? Why?”

“Thor was in a hurry to get back and we both needed medical attention. He had us brought up to be looked over by his people. I think he felt it was the right thing to do.”

“How are you? Are you…the Tesseract-”

“I’m still not quite stable but I’m in control, mostly, and the queen gave me this handy little gizmo to help keep the Other Guy locked away.” He raises a triangular gold pendant to show her.

“Wow. Handy.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately I’m told it won’t work on Earth.”

“Bummer.”

He readjusts his glasses, eyes sliding down off her face. “Natasha, I have to thank you for what you did. Being trapped like that, unable to stop myself…”

“Don’t sweat it, doc.”

“No, he almost killed you.”

“And you stopped him, so we’re even. I was just taking out the threat the best way possible.”

He watches her quietly, face stern. She knows he wants to say more, to push, to talk about whatever he remembers of her time as a prisoner but Nat can’t handle it. She’s getting a growing feeling of panic and he needs to leave before it explodes out.

“I’m super tired.”

“Oh, yeah. They said you’d be sleepy for a day or two. Did you want me to go?”

“Maybe come by and check on me later?”

“Will do. Uh, sweet dreams.”

He stands, hands swinging uncertainly for a moment before he reaches down and touches her arm. Just for a moment, just a gesture of comfort, and then he’s heading for the door.

 

The second it shuts behind him she throws her head back, fighting to keep her breathing even. Her body may have had time to recover but for her mind it’s still that moment, her torso still raked with cuts, her head still too light and Loki’s body lying two feet away with the flat announcement hanging off Thor’s lips. He’s dead? Dead. It seems impossible. He was Loki, the indestructible, the untouchable. He was a god and a king and a conqueror and he _owned_ her. He can’t just be dead like that, no warning.

She can’t understand the word. There’s no proof, no corpse she can kick to make sure, and she’s terrified it’s all a dream and any second he’ll be clamping his arms around her again and dragging her off in chains. And if he’s dead then why doesn’t she feel that calm, safe feeling that her mission is done? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Natasha looks to the observer to confirm that it’s over but that cold analytic figure is gone, melted back into the rest of her consciousness and bringing with it all the emotions she’s been fighting not to process for weeks. The walls of her mind cave inwards, the façade she’d constructed for Loki and the one she’d built to keep herself focused both imploding and she’s bombarded with a hundred different remembered smells and sounds and sensations at once. The slender hands holding her down, the rough tearing and bruising of her skin, his mocking laugh – and the tender looks, the kind praise, the brutal honest hurt when he realised her betrayal. It’s all flowing together until she’s not sure which feelings are hers and which ones she’s merely read in other faces.

_You lost._

The voice comes unbidden and she pushes it away, only to be replaced by another.

_Do you want it, Natasha?_

“Shut up.” She whispers, the sound echoing hollowly off the walls.

_Perhaps we can teach each other something._

“No.”

_You are MINE._

“Nonononono-”

_Who makes you feel this way, Talia?_

_You do._

She screams, pressing her hands against her ears as if she can silence it, bending until her face touches her knees. They keep running on an endless loop and she can’t breathe, the covers too stifling. She throws them off and goes to the window, pushing it open until she can get some fresh air. This is nothing she hasn’t dealt with before – she’s been trained for situations like this, her mind steeled against the psychological tortures of being in enemy hands. But the same pictures keep flashing into her head over and over, Clint smirking at her in a bath tub, Loki’s horror at hurting her, an ashen blood-streaked face beaten until it was unrecognisable. Natasha hammers her head against the wall, willing herself to think only of the pain, to snap out of it, to calm down, but it doesn’t stop.

She collapses to her knees, crawling backwards until she’s wedged in the corner but she can’t cry. The redhead bites her trembling fingertips as she rocks, trying to shut the memories out.

*****

She drifts in a sort of catatonic state for a while, her brain shutting out all stimuli that reminds her of Loki. She’s not sure if it’s because they’re on Asgard but everything makes her think of the god and his armour and his magic and the things he whispered as he forced her over the edge. She’s been too tense for too long and she can’t take in anything new right now, especially anything uniquely Aesir.

When she does start to wake up she’s in a garden full of unfamiliar but beautiful flowers and trees. The grass is very thick underfoot and the sky is cloudy but bright blue. She’s sitting on a stone bench in a warm woollen shawl over a white gown, and the first thing she thinks when she sees it is _Loki._ She wants to tear it off but manages to restrain everything except her thumbs, the digits twitching gently.

“Hi Tash.”

Bruce looks right at home in a pale purple tunic, a book open in his hands. He’s watching her cautiously but he gives off such an innate sense of calm that she feels able to smile.

“Hey. How come every time I look you’re here watching over me?”

“I’m your physician – it’s my duty of care.”

“Right.”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright. That’s okay. If you wanna talk, I’m here, and if you don’t then I’m not gonna push you.”

“Thanks.” She says quietly, hands curling in her shawl.

She’s silent for a few minutes, listening to the birds as she gets used to being outside, being safe, being free. She doesn’t feel as secure as she’d like because she hasn’t had a chance to evaluate their surroundings and assess the Aesir for threats, but Bruce’s presence makes her feel more confident. He’s the kind of guy who’s used to keeping an eye out for that stuff whenever he moves.

“How long have I been…out?”

“A week.”

“The Chitauri?”

“Odin took care of it. They’re helping organise clean-up on Earth, rehabilitating all the people who were turned with the staff, detaining any last supporters of Loki and shoring up the systems so people can get back to normal.”

“Thor?”

“He’s there.”

“How did he uh, take it?”

Bruce makes a face. “He wasn’t very happy with the way things turned out but he couldn’t exactly say his brother didn’t deserve it after seeing him with you. I think his parents convinced him it was better than Loki being dragged back here to be executed in front of everyone anyway.”

She toys with the fringe of the shawl, trying to swallow around the giant lump in her throat.

“Tash-”

“Don’t. Don’t treat me like some kind of victim.”

He raises his brows slowly. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Natasha looks up with a sort-of smile, eyes flicking over his face. Bruce understands what it’s like to have no control. He understands necessity.

“Thank you.”

He nods and looks back to his book.

“It wasn’t your fault either, you know.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “But if I’d never tried to make that stupid serum there wouldn’t have been a Hulk to be brainwashed.”

“And then we never would have gotten rid of Loki. You saved us, Bruce. Just by being you.”

“I think you had a little to do with it as well.”

He smiles wryly but she returns it, looking out over the garden. It really is beautiful, and she wonders how someone like Loki could have come from such a place, and how he could ever give it up. It makes her stomach twinge and she clenches her jaw. His problems are not her concern anymore.

 

She’s brushing her hair by the dressing table mirror. It’s grown in the time since the Conquest, curls just past her shoulders, and Natasha wonders if she could ask one of the servants to arrange it in the complicated braids of the Aesir ladies. Natasha is used to blending in, and in Asgard she’s getting just as many stares as she did when she was Loki’s consort (and for probably the same reason). It might make her feel more at home if she at least dressed the same.

There’s a knock and she flinches for a second before exhaling carefully.

“Who is it?”

“Me.” Bruce says.

“Come in.”

He pokes his head around the door and smiles, and she almost laughs at how warm it is. She remembers staring at each other across an isolated shack; she remembers being chased in a shower of glass and sparks. This Bruce is so new, suspicious in new ways but still kind and comforting.

“Nice duds.” She nods at the lavishly embroidered tunic and overrobe.

“Well you don’t meet royalty every day.”

Her eye twitches and he notices, but doesn’t comment.

“You look lovely.”

“Thanks.” She runs a hand down the front of the black and red dress. She does appreciate the semi-martial aspect of Asgardian dresses. It makes her feel a little more ready for anything.

“They’re waiting.”

“I’ll be two seconds.”

She finishes ripping the brush through her hair and settles for holding it back off her face with a pair of ornate metal combs. She takes one last look and hurries over, taking his offered arm as they walk down the hall.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he mutters.

“I don’t think putting it off is gonna make it any less awkward.”

“I’m certain Their Majesties will wait-”

“Really Bruce, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He makes a doubtful face but just keeps walking, heading for a section of the palace she’s never been in. They climb a short set of steps and pass through an impressive pair of golden doors, two guards on either side. Bruce leads her over to a doorway about halfway down the hall and knocks, squeezing her arm gently. A servant answers with a smile.

“Her Majesty is expecting you. Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a chamber similar to Nat’s room, the same light wooden panelling, but circular. There are windows all the way around, framed with tall carved pillars, and an assortment of couches and chairs in the centre. A woman sits facing the door, her hair back in a silver net studded with pearls, her dress blue over grey. There’s something familiar about her face.

“My Midgardian friends,” she smiles, “You are very welcome.”

“Our pleasure, Your Majesty.” Bruce bows his head.

“No, it is I who owe you more than can be counted,” she stands, coming closer, “I am sorry we have not properly met sooner, Natasha.”

“It couldn’t be helped, Your Majesty.” Her voice cracks. Something about those blue eyes is making it hard to maintain her calm mask. They’re too honest, too piercing.

“Friend Bruce, may I have a moment with Lady Natasha? Just so we may get to know each other uninterrupted.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll wait outside.”

“Thyra will bring you refreshments.”

 

He glances at Nat and she keeps her face as smooth as possible. The door clicks shut and the silence becomes a sudden oppressing thing, like the air is heavier. Hands close over hers and it’s all Tash can do not to fight them off.

“There is nothing, nothing I can do to make up for what you have suffered, my dear. Your life has been marked by tragedy since your birth. To think a son of mine…to think my sweet Loki could be so heartless…”

“He had his own issues.” Nat says quietly.

Frigga’s face changes slightly, the anguish turning into confusion as she searches Tash’s face. She tries harder to keep it blank but the queen’s brow falls.

“You understood him.”

Nat looks resolutely at her feet. “He was the bad guy.”

“Yes. Yes, I am afraid in the end he was not himself.”

“He seemed…broken.”

She looks up in time to catch an expression so full of heartache it makes her own chest hurt.

“He was. I wish you could have known him as I did, when he was happier.”

The lump rises in Nat’s throat again. “Can you show me?”

Frigga frowns. “Do you think it will make anything easier?”

“No.”

“I do not think it matters much now anyhow.”

She’s right, and Nat knows it. There can be no good in seeing proof that Loki wasn’t always such a maniac. But something in her pushes the redhead forward. She has to _know_ , she has to be sure.

“I’d like to see it anyway.”

Frigga raises a hand and cups it against her face, fingers pressed to her temple.

“I will show you my favourite memories.”

The first spark of a picture blossoms behind Nat’s eyes and she gasps, soon lost in the swirling colours and sounds.

 

Bruce walks her back to her room, glancing at her every few steps. She knows he’s going to ask, that he can’t help asking. It’s who he is. But Nat’s still too caught up in those visions of a dark child with no place, a child under expectations not that different to the ones she’d grown up with.

“You’ve been pretty quiet. Frigga didn’t upset you, did she?”

“No.”

“I couldn’t see her being the kind of person to intentionally distress anyone but I wasn’t sure-”

“She was wonderful, Bruce. Very apologetic.”

“Oh.”

They stop at her door and she rests on the frame, fingers dancing over the wood.

“You sure you’re…I can stay for a bit if you want. Keep you company.”

“I need the quiet.”

He nods. “I get that. Just remember I’m here, alright?”

“The only other human in Asgard – how could I forget?”

He smiles and gives her an odd wave, continuing down the corridor. Nat closes the door and leans against it, head back. Life was easier when her targets were one-dimensional.

*****

She can’t stay in her room without going crazy. She likes to walk alone, especially in the gardens, but it makes Bruce give her curious looks over the dinner table and that’s more interest than Nat wants from anyone, let alone the perceptive doctor. So instead she goes to Frigga – maternal Frigga, Frigga who’s all too eager to make up for Loki’s actions, Frigga whose very presence made the room sweeter and the darkness clawing at her brain drop away. And she asks for more stories of Loki and receives them, as if the more she knows the more things will make sense. It’s pointless though – she already gets his motivations. It’s hers Nat’s worried about.

She misses Clint. Clint always knew the right things to say, always understood her better than she understood herself. He would have told her it was natural to feel so lost ( _Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?_ ) and he would have helped her find her old self ( _You know that I do_ ). But does she want her old self back? The Black Widow was a perversion, a corruption of an innocent, a taker of lives without a choice or any other life to fall back on. Maybe she doesn’t want to be a myth or a cautionary tale anymore. Some days she feels as broken as Loki, and just as close to the knife’s edge.

And maybe it was what she’d deserved anyway. Maybe Loki was her penance for all the evil she’d brought on other people. Maybe it was Fate balancing out her ledger. Maybe the two of them were meant to find each other, to face the other half of their own demons. Maybe they were meant to destroy each other and the job’s only half done.

 

“I’ve had word from Thor.”

She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t care what happened to Earth. So long as someone survived, she did her duty.

“He’s coming back. They’re straightened out most of the problems now, got things relatively up and running. We can return as soon as we’re ready.”

She stares at the page but doesn’t see the runes.

“Nat?”

There’s a moment and then Bruce is kneeling in front of her, forcing her to face him. Nat bites her cheek and smiles.

“Great.”

“Do you want to go back?”

Half of humanity is probably feting her as a hero, and the other half as a whore. She remembers those whispers.

“And do what? There’s no SHIELD left, and I’m pretty sure the last thing we need now is spies or assassins. People should be working together.”

“There has to be something you can do that isn’t intelligence-related.”

She inhales sharply. “And what about you, Bruce? You eager to go home and be the Hulk again? You’ll have to give up your little trinket,” she taps his pendant, “You ready for that?”

“I’m not going back.”

She curls her lip. “Oh? Why not?”

“I’m tired of running, Nat.”

“They won’t be chasing you now. You’ll be the big hero who killed the god-king.”

His face darkens. “And broke their backs with my bare hands. I’m not the saviour of this story.”

“Neither am I.”

“How can you say that? The shit you had to go through, and yet you still kept it together and made a plan that saved us.”

“Sure, my brilliant plan. Where Thor’s brother ended up dead.”

Bruce blinks. “He had to. He was too powerful to take alive.”

“But he didn’t deserve that. The guy was royally fucked in the head but underneath he used to be nice. Maybe Frigga could have helped him.”

“He was a psychopath!”

“You’re saying there’s no way he could have been redeemed?”

“He enslaved an entire planet, Tash. My god, I can’t even put a number on how many people he killed, let alone what he did to Tony and Steve and Clint and me and…and you.”

“I’ve done terrible things, Bruce. Clint took a chance on me.”

“I don’t think you ever enjoyed hurting anyone.”

“How would you know?”

She shouts it, shouts it as she’s suddenly in his face in a move that would have been unthinkable on Earth. But they’re on Asgard and the Hulk is locked away, and it’s just Bruce who looks up at her with his chest heaving.

“You think you’re like Loki?”

She presses her lips together. She doesn’t want to do this. Nat stands quickly, pushing her way past.

“Nat, wai-”

But she speeds up until she’s running, blind to everything but the walls of the corridor as she pelts along the stone.

 

She runs until it’s dark, until she’s on a bridge stretching out from the city, the water still and black beneath her. Natasha leans against the railing, staring down at the depths and wondering if she can ever remember how to breathe again, if it mightn’t be better to just jump over and finish what she’s started. The wind is cold on her face, sweeping away the tears before they’ve even fully formed. Natasha doesn’t cry – this is all Natalia, the girl Loki pried out of her, the one she can’t force out of her head again. This is emotion, sentiment, confusion, all the things she learned to give up decades ago, and she doesn’t know how anyone can possibly manage under so many conflicting thoughts.

“I understand what it’s like to feel like you’re two separate people.”

She jerks forward at the voice, spinning quickly to put the stone at her back. Bruce walks out of the darkness slowly, cautiously. He looks more solid than she’s ever seen him, eyes clear and locked on hers.

“I get how hard it is to reign in those kinds of emotions. And guilt? Guilt’s my first and second name.”

He does understand, she knows that. And yet he can’t, can’t possibly relate to this maddening series of snapshots burning through her. Her brain holds up images of Loki as she knew him, as Frigga knew him, and as she used to be, a constant stream of repeated comparisons and she doesn’t know anymore which ones are the right ones.

“I hate Loki. And I feel sorry for him. And I miss him the way Frigga misses him, and I miss him in my own way, and I hate him again. I don’t know which parts of me are important anymore. I don’t know if killing him was right – or who it was right for.”

“You feel like you’re in tiny pieces and none of them fit back the way they used to. I get that. After the experiment…I was like a whole new person.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think.”

“I’m not saying I found a way to put myself back together, but I think I’m getting there. It just takes time.”

“I’m not going to make it.” She shakes her head, voice choked and thick.

“You will.”

“I don’t know how. Nobody needs Black Widow or Natasha anymore, and I don’t know Natalia at all.”

“I need you. Whoever you are, you’re amazing.”

He’s so close now she could touch him, Nat blinking back tears as she looks up at Bruce.

“The amulet stops you turning, right? So if you wanted to you could jump off this bridge and be free of him.”

“I guess.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

He’s silent for a moment as he contemplates the water, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he looks back at her.

“Someone once said I could do great things just by being myself.”

“She’s not the best judge of things right now.”

“But I think it might apply to her as well.”

Natalia sobs and Bruce folds her in his arms gently, his hands like a barricade against the world. She cries for minutes, or maybe hours, or maybe days. She cries until her head is clear – still uncertain, but clear for the moment – and she starts to focus more on his scent and his warmth than herself.

“Will you stay with me?” she whispers against his neck.

“You’re not getting rid of me now.”

*****

It’s still dark when Nastasya rises, sliding out between the sheets with the stealth that’s stitched into her bones. She collects her practice things and changes behind the screen, never making more than a faint rustle, but it’s still not surprising to find Bruce looking at her when she comes out.

“Enjoy training.” He murmurs drowsily.

She kisses his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

He snuffles and rolls further into the blankets. She slips into the hall, the only people around servants at early duties. Eventually she crosses others following the same path, rugged-faced warriors with huge biceps and incredibly broad shoulders who nod as they pass. She enters the practice courtyard. The Asgardians are warming up, stretching their muscles and checking their weapons. There are some experienced warriors in the corner but the Aesir closest to the door are younger, some only children, some around twenty (in appearance at least). They look up as she starts her morning routine, muttering to each other as the redhead goes through her exercises. It’s cold but the padded tunic and the motion soon warm her up, and she’s feeling loose and limber when she finally straightens.

“Positions!”

They clamber into place, jostling to be in the front row, until she’s got two neat lines facing her. Nastasya draws her practice sword and holds it in preparation for the first figure.

“Arms up, elbows in tight. Keep the edge steady. Pair up and begin.”

Wood clashes against wood and she moves down the columns, correcting, encouraging, the points flashing in a dance she knows all the steps to.

 

Nastasya is not Loki’s Natalia, or the Natalia her parents knew once many years ago. She is not Clint’s Natasha, or SHIELD’s Black Widow. She is all strengths and no weaknesses, though weakness is no longer a disgrace. She is Bruce’s but only as much as he is hers; she is Frigga’s in a way that has a lot to do with empathy and more to do with love.

The black marble columns that mark the tomb are well hidden, but the path gives a grand view of the silver woods and the river far below. They walk together, one blonde and one scarlet, well-shrouded in their fur cloaks. The women leave their lonely offerings under the gleaming runes, and she hopes that one day someone might do the same for her. She’s not sure she deserves it but she’s trying to change that.

She can’t hate Loki, because no matter what Bruce says Nastasya’s pretty sure they needed each other to be free. He couldn't survive the truth; she couldn't escape the lies. It might not be much in the way of comfort but it means more than most of the random carnage that was her life. She's never believed in destiny.

But then she never believed in gods either.


End file.
